The other work he(Neuhaus, Richter’steacher) gave to me to practice during my first year was Liszt’s Sonata. (The otherone was Beethoven’s Sonata in A flat major op.110).

    The essential point about this piece, hetaught me, was the silences, the sound of silences. Thanks to him, I devised alittle stratagem, a dangerous stratagem that would almost certainly not workfor others but that has rendered me sterling service.

    It’s at the beginning of the sonata.

    What does this beginning consist of, infact? A single note, that’s all: a G. What can you do to ensure that miserableG sounds somehow special? 

    Here’s what I do: I come out on to thestage. I sit down, and I don’t move a muscle. I create the sense of emptinesswithin myself, and in my head I count up to thirty, very slowly. This causespanic in the audience: ‘What’s happening? Is he ill?’ 

    Then, and only then, I play the G. In thisway, the note sounds totally unexpected, but in an intentional way. Clearly,there’s a sort of theatricality about all this, but the theatrical elementseems to me very important in music. It’s essential if you want to create afeeling of unexpectedness.

    I know lots of pianists who play splendidly, but who serve everything on a plate. You know in advance what’s onthe menu. It’s good, no doubt about it, but it’s familiar.

    The unexpected, the unforeseen—it’s thisthat creates an impression. That’s what I’d come to discover from Neuhaus andwhat he showed me. He put the finishing touches to what I was looking for.